My sort-of grandpa loves the poet Robert Service, and every summer at our family reunion he offers an grandchild $50 if they can recite the poem “The Cremation of Sam McGee” by heart in front of our huge family (Irish Catholics have lots of babies. They also name them after themselves so we’re all Jon and Mary and Paul and Theresa). You get your name on a plaque afterwards. Now we all know this damn poem and we recite it together like some weird cult. There are strange things done in the midnight sun…

https://youtu.be/PDOnnpdGMz8

https://youtu.be/xXuOwVjvVQE

Joe doesn’t give a shit. Joe is gonna win. There’s no one else in this house. Joe is still a raisin.

https://youtu.be/qTZx40l1elI

https://youtu.be/nvzOSgkwAIk

The first child is always the hardest. Here they are, a tiny person, and even though they shit everywhere and cry they’re like these little balls of potential, and you can’t help but wonder what they’ll be like once they stop being so helpless.

The oldest was at that age now; it was time to tell him. The first step away from innocence. He was always so curious, always reading, and it seemed like the more he read, the stranger he became. And he was so interested in Biology. He’d probably read all about it anyway.

…

The explanation could have gone better, but ultimately the point got across. Now it was time for questions; anything but something awkward about Daddy and Mommy. He looked up, puzzled.

“Are bees mammals?”

cold air on a dark night,
two men sit in low light.

tip tap, tip tap, tip tap,
tip tap, tip tap, tip tap,
tip tap, tip tap, tip tap,
BANG.

So, I woke up this afternoon and…well…I found something. It’s small, I’m sure just a minor tumor, or maybe a hernia? Can you get those there?

And, it’s fine…it’s probably spreading, I should go. To the doctor’s and…well, my legs have stopped working. And is that tingling in my arms? Does that mean a stroke, or a heart attack…both, it’s probably both.

You know what they’d say. You’re fine. You’re fine. Probably fine. Definitely…not fine. Definitely dying.

IMG_0518

A hypochondriac knows both nothing and everything are wrong.

So, she died. And we cried. And we laughed. And laughed.
And we finished the trip.

How do you cremate someone in a Catholic country?

“This says you have four traveling in your party, is someone not returning with you.”

“Oh, we’ve got her in Ziplocs in our luggage.”

Destiny. Destiny, broken.

All you have to do is trust (Don’t look!) and all will be fine (Don’t look!). Just make it to the end (Don’t look, Don’t!) and she is back in your arms (Don’t look Don’t!). Just walk (Don’t look, Don’t look!) and trust and (Don’t look, Don’t look, Don’t!)

His music is enough to rescue her, but not enough to save.

Tell me a story. Tell me a story about me.

It’s so much easier to just…..forget.